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Not with my money, I wouldn't. ( blandly. the little harridan that she is, her eagle eye on the household accounts, tearing strips from emeric over his wasteful profligacy—

he had never wagered more than he could afford. she had never entirely agreed with his opinion of 'worth it'. )

Then wager with mine.

[ An absurd offer, given the patchwork and threadbare appearance of this fool. But he seems quite sincere. ]

Edited 2018-09-17 13:57 (UTC)

I'll probably lose it, ( a light warning, but not actually a no. for all that she takes in the absurdity of it.

araceli would probably be disappointed in her if she said no. and she should get a hand in before she has to play cards with pirates, surely? )

I don't think so. I think you're a blessed soul. I think you'll have the best of fortune. Shall we go to a gambling den?

( this look is more measuring. measuring the likelihood this leads to having to leave somewhere quickly. it's not that she's certain he'd leave her behind, inconveniently hobbled by that fucking wyvern, it's just that she isn't certain he wouldn't. everyone would be terribly displeased if something happened to her, but it'd have already happened, probably.

on the other hand. )

I think you do a good impression of an optimist, but if you need to rid yourself of money that badly, by all means.

( this is a terrible idea. )

I am an optimist. A ray of utter sunshine. Come.

[ He pulls the horse around back towards the stables. ]

( this is a terrible idea, she thinks, again, but somehow that doesn't seem to mean she isn't going to do it, pushing persistence back up the path behind him. )

I need the practise, ( she says, possibly to byerly, possibly to her horse, ) if I'm not going to lose all my money to pirates at the first Naval Presence meeting.

[ And Byerly, speaking for the horse that appears to be Gwen's preferred conversational partner, neighs in response: ]

Deliiiightful!

[ And he pushes his mare into a canter. They haven't gone far, and so the return trip to the stables is easy enough; he turns the mare over to the groom with a firm clap on the shoulder in place of a gratuity (the groom looks slightly disgruntled) and then turns to Gwen to lift her down from her own horse. ]

Will you be able to walk to our den of sin? Or shall I carry you like the valiant hero I am?

I don't know that one arrives at a den of sin being carried. I think the aim is to be carried out, isn't it?

( though she does seem a little like she's testing her own weight as she finds her footing. the ache in her thigh is not insignificant, and though she's supposed to be exercising it some...

well, probably she'll manage. and there's always sending for guilfoyle, who has been obliged to carry her about the gallows whenever she tires of whiteknuckling it. )

Oh, I've been carried in many a time. Being falling down drunk is an impediment to gambling only for the under-motivated.

[ He winks at her. Somehow, he manages to set a pace that looks brisk but is, in fact, quite gentle - an effect of the way that he rushes ahead and then seems to get distracted by a particularly odd building, or by asking a passer-by directions to the finest establishment around, or by taking a moment to murmur a withering comment on someone's sartorial choices into Gwen's ear. The effect is, in short, making sure she can keep up without seeming as though that's what he's doing. And also, bonus cattiness.

They arrive at his den of choice before long - The Blue Heron. It looks...skeezy. ]

Lovely, non?

( being the mulish creature that she is, gwenaëlle at first attempts to match those rushes on principle—but he handles it so effortlessly, and she lets herself take it at her own pace, and owns that it would be gauche to thank him. besides, it would pique the irrational part of her that resents being managed in any form—

as if it's unreasonable for people to be kind to her, occasionally. she is in want of a bit of kindness, however dubiously delivered. and it is a dubious look that she casts towards this den of iniquity: )

Non, ( upon consideration.

but the conclusion seems to please her. she can work with this, sure. )

[ He laughs at that, then offers her his arm (perfectly gentlemanly). ]

Now, my dear, how are you at sums? Mathematics in general?

( it is very gentlemanly, so he may have her arm; she is, so long as she isn't speaking, quite ladylike. though what comes out of her mouth is more matter of fact than colourful: )

Extremely good.

( it isn't boastful; she just is, and not particularly one for false modesty. )

I know finances very well.

( better, probably, than most young ladies in her previous position. it had been soothing, a means of wringing reason out of instability. emeric might spend coin carelessly, but gwenaëlle could account for every ounce of gold that came and went, mastered an understanding of what it all meant. )

Most excellent.

[ He begins to descend into the gambling den, shepherding her along in a most gallant manner. ]

So I needn't explain to you the odds on a pair of dice, the prospects of rolling a seven versus rolling a twelve. I thought we could perhaps get started on that first of all - the simplest games of chance.

( there is something pleasantly entertaining about the juxtaposition of his manners and their locale; it's not the manners alone that set her at ease, but the familiarity of the contrast. she half-expects to turn and see asher holding court. )

I am very concerned for your purse, Rutyer, ( but she doesn't sound it. )

Well, a man of wealth and means such as myself can spend money with ease.

[ The famously-penniless Byerly smiles tranquilly at her.

It's noisy and cheery in the room. Not as skeezy as it looks from the outside - not that it's a fine place, but it's clean and well-lit. He leads her decorously over to a table where a dealer is spinning a roulette wheel. ]

My dear.

[ He pulls the chair out for her. ]

( other people's money, maybe. maker knows her father always loved a bit of charity.

she sits, and it's a bit more of a relief than she'd entirely like to admit in taking weight off that wound; she shifts very slightly to settle most comfortably, back straight and ankles tucked by habit, and spares a thought to be glad on behalf of whoever has to deal with cleaning this dress that she doesn't appear to be trailing it in anything horrific. )

I've never played this before.

[ He doesn't sit; rather, he folds his long lean frame over, resting his elbow on the back of her seat and dangling his hand off its side. His lips sit decently close to her ear. And he explains: ]

It's a difficult game, my dear. Terribly difficult. The dealer spins the wheel and tosses a ball. Wherever the ball lands - that's the winning spot. If you bet on it, you win.

( it's an excellent angle of—well, not bosom, gwenaëlle hardly has that to speak of, but the clawmarks of the rage demon that had brought her originally to skyhold begin where a more generous bosom would be, dragging down her sternum and beneath fabric. necklines that might be indecent on a more voluptuous frame than hers are merely moderately daring. )

It's as likely to land in any of them, isn't it?

'Tis indeed. So the question is: does the Maker smile upon you today?

[ His finger traces a circle, iconically recreating the spinning of the wheel. ]

A low-risk bet involves a fifty-fifty split. You can select red or black, even or odd. And if you call that, then you'll get a modest return. But a daring woman might select a single number, and if she wins that bet, then she'll make herself a wealthy lady indeed. The odds are against her, but the rewards are grand.

Black,

( decisively, )

sixteen.

( it is entirely possible that he's going to leave her with whatever insane gambling debt this produces. she can't rule that out; he's penniless and untrustworthy and she'd be a fool to think this was anything but a terrible idea.

but maybe if her grandfather is busy being exasperated over paying her newly acquired gambling debts, the small matter of her wedding venue won't be a singular source of ire and she'll be able to slide the whole past him more neatly—

all right, that might be a stretch. still. he's paid for more frivolous things. )

[ He laughs, very pleased by her boldness. A silver thrown down (if he were a man of any real means, he'd flashily be tossing in a gold coin; indeed, if he were a little more reckless than he is, he might be doing it; but Ferelden intelligence does not pay well, and the purse they've given him for this mission is far from weighty) on the spot in question. A spin; a pleasing clack-clack-clack of wheel and ball, and then -

she loses. No surprise there.

As the dealer collects Byerly's money - ]

Another go. I feel our fortunes changing. The next time, the next time shall be ours.

Will it?

( a merry question, but not an optimistic one. still: )

Black, twelve.

( she is a mess of fears and contradictory bravado, and this is such a little thing to be brave about. spoiled, still; fallen from grace only to land in the lap of luxury, still cosseted by a grandfather unwilling to give up his favourite simply because she isn't his blood. she worries and fusses and plans, but she's never yet truly gone without. it's easy, still, to reason away those anxieties—to rationalize doing what she wants to do, which is pure impulse. )

Oh, yes. Without a doubt. Here it comes - Oh.

[ His mock-bravado melts away a moment in sheer surprise as - she wins. How in Andraste's name did - But yes, there it is, the little ball come to rest on black, twelve. In a way, he's actually rather disappointed: he was looking forward to an evening of merrily dragging her from defeat to defeat, showing her how joy could be found even when you're low and debased, even when you have no regard from anyone. Or, failing that, a string of defeats culminating in a victory. The didacticism is utterly spoiled by a quick and easy win early on.

The others around the table cheer for Gwen as she wins a hundred silvers for the three he'd thrown down. ]

( her own shock mirrors his—until she catches it, and it turns the corner of her mouth sly with a smile. )

Bless you, Asher, and your fucking sense of humor, ( beneath her breath, basking in the entirely unearned praise of her new acquaintances as if it's no more than her ladyship's due.

it would not be wrong to say she almost certainly enjoys byerly's astonishment more than the win itself. )

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